


The Art of Happenstance

by galateaGalvanized



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Force Bond (Star Wars), M/M, Obi-Wan's lightsaber as portrayed by Lindsay Lohan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27479623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galateaGalvanized/pseuds/galateaGalvanized
Summary: Obi-Wan looks up at him, a disbelieving smile playing at the corners of his mouth.“I think my lightsaber likes you better than me,” Obi-Wan admits, and Cody’s eyes widen imperceptibly behind his visor.Or,Cody and Obi-Wan co-parent a lightsaber.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 83
Kudos: 842





	The Art of Happenstance

_Once is happenstance; twice is coincidence_ , Cody thinks, glancing warily down at the object nestled in the brilliant red clay at his feet. He drops into a crouch, still firing his Deece and shouting for his boys to press their advantage while he grabs for it. His aim is a little off as he fires one-handed at the retreating clankers, and he can still hear Alpha-17’s voice echoing in his head: _the third time, it’s enemy action._

He doesn’t think repeatedly finding Obi-Wan’s lightsaber mid-battle is a Separatist ploy, but he won’t write the idea off just yet.

The rest of the 212th is slowly but surely retaking the airstrip adjacent to the Republic munitions depot, and Cody is glad to see far more sputtering, sparking clanker heads on the ground than white plastoid buckets. There are a few of the steel bunkers standing on the southside of the strip, and he ducks behind one as his men stream past. The lightsaber is warm in his hands, as if some lingering heat from its owner has come along for the ride. Cody sighs, glancing around for any other sign of his general. When no red hair or cheeky grin appears from around the corner, Cody pulls out his parachute cord.

He already knows the clip doesn’t fit on his belt from the last two times, so he fastens a quick half-hitch knot to the lightsaber's D-ring and ties it to a belt loop. It’ll swing awkwardly against his thigh, but it’ll stay on, and the battle’s wrapping up anyways. He sprints back towards the front line, pausing only to send a few squads to the north to route any possible escape via the civilian shuttles stored there. The 212th is well into clean-up, with teams dismantling what’s left of the stammering droids or searching the fields for wounded, when Cody sees the first plume of smoke erupt from the neat rows of northern hangars.

Waxer and Boil are at his heels as he races across the field, adrenaline pounding through his veins as his feet pound the clay. He knows—he just _knows_ —that Obi-Wan is there, facing off against whatever Seppie officer is trying to worm their way off planet while the remnants of their army are ground to dust. His knife is in his hand and is cutting loose the lightsaber before he consciously thinks about it, so that when he bursts through the hangar doors, he already has his arm cocked to throw.

He hears a shout from a cluster of blaster fire and smoke near the immolating wreckage of a shuttle—just a hulking mess of twisted metal at this point—and he chucks the lightsaber as hard as he can towards the center of mass. Close to the peak of the saber's arc, Cody sees it change course and speed, flying faster than he could've thrown it. It disappears into the haze of red lines and gray dust, and he holds his breath, every atom of his body straining towards where Obi-Wan must be.

At last, a brilliant burst of blue cuts through the smoke and the tension. Cody's heart falls from his throat back to his chest, and he and the men cheer as they're setting up a perfunctory defensive perimeter. A continuous ribbon of blue returns each of the red blasts towards the scrambling contingent of droids, and Cody can’t help but stop and watch while the smoke clears. Obi-Wan is a work of art with a saber in hand, and he flows effortlessly from blast deflection to offensive strikes, decimating the remaining droids and leaving the flummoxed Separatist captain bleeding and pinned to the ground.

"I think we’re done here," Obi-Wan says sweetly, staring down the length of his blade. “But feel free to disagree.”

At his feet, the captain stares up at him, looking—honestly—a little starstruck. Obi-Wan’s hair is dark with sweat, and there are a few smudges of grease and char along the lines of his cheekbones. He's grinning, smug and satisfied, as if Cody's arrival had been his plan all along, as if he had never once doubted getting his lightsaber back for this fight, as if he hadn't even needed it.

Cody is so tired.

“General, if you’re done playing with your food,” Cody says, and he hears Boil smother a laugh behind him. “We’re going to miss our rendezvous with General Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan looks up with a smile, clearly still riding the thrill of a hard fight well-won. “Of course. Waxer and Boil, if you wouldn’t mind ensuring the comfort of our new friend here, the good commander and I can take our leave.”

His lightsaber blade doesn’t move more than a few centimeters from the captain’s face while Boil and Waxer lift the man up and snap on the restraining cuffs. As their men start ushering the prisoner back towards the landing transport shuttles, Obi-Wan and Cody fall into a light jog back towards the makeshift GAR command center.

Cody’s opening his mouth to ask about the lightsaber when Obi-Wan beats him to it.

“So, who found it this time?” Obi-Wan asks, and there’s a wry, self-deprecating grin on his face when Cody glances over. “If it was Waxer, I’ll need to resort to serious bribery to ensure Anakin never finds out.”

“Excuse me, sir?” 

“No need to play coy, Cody. What do you think it’d take? Visitation rights to that little girl on Ryloth?” Obi-Wan laughs, inviting Cody to share in the joke, but Cody’s too surprised to join their usual repartee.

“Sir, _I_ found it,” Cody says. “Just like the last two times. You mean you haven’t been throwing it to me on purpose?”

Obi-Wan looks at him curiously, and that curiosity eventually subsides into careful consideration as they keep up a steady pace. The lightsaber is back where it belongs, clipped securely to Obi-Wan’s belt and barely swinging from the momentum of his jog. Cody absently wonders if he can requisition a similar fastener, then shakes his head. It's his job to ensure Obi-Wan doesn't lose the saber again, not to more easily carry it around for him when he does. 

"Say, Cody, how did you know where I was, back there?" Obi-Wan asks, changing the subject, and Cody doesn't like whatever budding theories are making Obi-Wan's voice sound like that.

"With all due respect, sir, it's an easy bet that you'll be in exactly the worst and most dangerous spot on the battlefield," Cody says, and he thinks he's allowed to sound a little long-suffering at this point. "Perhaps second-worst, if General Skywalker's on the field."

Obi-Wan laughs and speeds up.

"I hope you haven't just jinxed our rendezvous point, Commander," he calls, but Cody knows him well enough to catch the lingering thoughtfulness in Obi-Wan's gaze: an idea has taken root, and Cody will just have to wait and see what it flowers into.

There are, of course, both super battle droids _and_ spider droids waiting for them alongside Anakin and Ahsoka. Still, even Obi-Wan's "I told you so" can't take away the ever-present thrill of fighting alongside three trained Jedi. Their three sabers are whirlwinds of light amidst a sea of blaster fire; they are, each of them, an army unto themselves. 

Cody takes just a second to watch his general flow through three different lightsaber forms faster than Cody could change clips on his Deece. Although clones primarily trained in marksmanship, the martial arts training at Kamino had been brutally thorough. Through the lens of that training, Cody can recognize and respect the years of practice behind every tight blade movement, every anticipated block. As he watches, he notices the art in it, too: a tucked flourish, a seamless pivot from uppercut to backwards lunge. The lightsaber is as much a part of Obi-Wan as his connection to the Force.

Later, after the surviving Separatist cells have been properly dealt with, the munitions depot has been restored to functionality, and triage is well under way in medical, Cody finally arrives, exhausted, at his quarters. He sheds his armor like a second skin and then stares at the pile on the floor, his bones aching with weariness. He allows himself a single second of self-pity before he groans and hauls it into his lap for review. The right vambrace is bent beyond repair, and the blaster damage to his left pauldron burnt right through the plastoid's protective coating. The rest seems mostly fine; there's nothing a few layers of epoxy won't fix, and he's about to put the lot in his gear locker when his eyes catch on the cut cord still looped around his belt.

The knot's tied well, and only the judicious application of his fingernails and teeth manages to work the cord free. Once loose, the remaining cord's barely ten centimeters long, and the ends are already fraying. It’s obviously trash, but there’s a sentimental part of his soul, unaltered by the rigid masters of Kamino, that wants to keep it, just in case.

With a sigh, Cody tosses it into the waste receptacle and pulls out a datapad. Before he can think better of it, he fires off a gear requisition form to the Coruscanti quartermaster that handles Jedi equipment, like their oversized battle robes, their Force-enhancing field gear, and, perhaps, their lightsaber belt clips.

Just in case.

-—-

Alright, Cody doesn't know what Alpha-17 would have called a "happenstance" occurring a fourth time, but he's calling it _bullshit_.

Ghost Company is two days into a stealth mission on Antilla. Such missions aren’t unprecedented, but stealth isn’t exactly the clones’ strong suit. None of the brothers feel or look comfortable in civvies, and even non-humanoids get suspicious when they see so many people who look exactly the same. On paper, the company is ground-truthing the reconnaissance data from the survey droids, but in reality they’re nearby in case the Jedi need back-up. Even that seems unlikely, honestly; Cody thinks the vode are strolling the grungy, inner-city streets of one of Antilla’s many capitals in case the Jedi need _clean-up_.

The mission is fairly low stakes, anyways. The whole purpose of it is to get in, identify whether the sudden resurgence of a banned chemical agent is from Separatist interference, and get out. 

“Think of it as unofficial leave, Cody,” Obi-Wan had said before he left, dressed in some sort of tight blue pants, an untucked white shirt, and a dove-gray leather jacket. He had slicked his hair back, and his eyes were rimmed with a thin black line. To Cody, he had looked like Obi-Wan with a thin veneer of someone else painted sloppily on top. “Get yourself a souvenir, maybe. There is a surplus of tourist shops near the ninth pier, though I am sure that their wares are fairly expensive.”

“Clones aren’t exactly salaried employees, sir,” Cody had said drily, controlling the urge to fidget in his own dark-wash pants and loose ‘I ♥ Antilla’ shirt. Obi-Wan had just winked and told him to check his pockets. 

Two days later, Cody is staring into the windows of a tea shop rather horribly named “An-tea-lan Brews”, fingering the spare credit chits in his pants pockets, when he sees it: a little glint of metal peeking out from beneath an alleyway dumpster. He’s honestly not sure what makes him walk over—there must be a thousand aluminum cans underneath a thousand beaten, abandoned dumpsters in this city—but he crouches down, and Obi-Wan’s lightsaber all but rolls into his outstretched hand.

“Fuck,” he says to it, like saying hello. His first emotion isn’t even surprise; it’s frustration that the clip he’d requisitioned is with his armor back at their makeshift base.

He backs up and starts inspecting the alley. There are none of the six-eyed, many-legged furballs native to this region, and there are two oval scorch marks on the wall, still warm to the touch. The rest of the evidence indicates a primarily physical struggle: the mold on the walls has been brushed away in huge swatches, and the trash and leaves have been kicked up into irregular piles. With a feeling of foreboding in his gut, Cody uses the tip of his blaster to open the lid of the dumpster.

There are two Trandoshans inside, groaning, with rivers of oil slick-colored blood streaking their faces and clothes. Cody lets the lid fall shut and sighs.

Trandoshans are expensive hunters to hire, and they'd clearly forced Obi-Wan into a close-quarters fight, so they had wanted to subdue instead of kill. Cody rolls the lightsaber in his hands, wondering if it had gotten pulled loose in the fight or knocked from Obi-Wan’s grip. Still, Obi-Wan was the clear winner, and he would've noticed that his lightsaber was missing. Had there been two groups? Had he been in a rush to stash the bodies and get back into cover, expecting to be able to come back for it after shaking his pursuers?

Cody holds the saber in his hands, feeling ten kinds of stupid as he waits to see if it will give him a hint. 

"Please," he says, and he holds an image of Obi-Wan in his mind, focusing on the sly, beckoning smile and the creased half-moons of his madder blue eyes. " _Please_ tell me where he is."

He swears he feels the lightsaber pulse, once, in the cradle of his hands, and his heart jumps to his throat. Then, nothing.

"The hard way, then," Cody says grimly, and he exits the alley at a fast clip. He's in the shopping district near the wharf, so Obi-Wan's best bet would be to blend in with the throngs of tourists looking for a souvenir. A restaurant would be too obvious and difficult to leave quickly; he wasn't in the tea shop… He'd be near the water, Cody realizes abruptly, starting to move. Obi-Wan loves nothing more than making an aquatic quick escape.

There’s some sort of permanent fairground set up near the wharf, with a huge Ferris wheel adjacent to a massive, sprawling boardwalk lined with restaurants and little booths advertising the chance to win a variety of both stuffed _and_ live animals. The restaurant types range from gaudy street stalls the length of a speeder bike to sprawling, palatial buildings with elaborate fake lawns. Awful, tinny music is blasting out of speakers every five meters, and the crowds of families with small children is a cacophony of different languages. Even through all of this, through the screaming and the static, Cody’s enhanced hearing manages to catch the melodic cadence of Obi-Wan’s voice.

"Oh, no, you're making a mistake," Cody hears, and he can almost feel the undercurrent of Force suggestion in Obi-Wan's words. He picks up his pace. "You must be looking for someone else."

At the sight of slicked-back reddish hair, he ducks into the nearest shop with a sightline to his general. It’s a flower store, apparently, with arrangements of all shapes and sizes transforming the space into more of a jungle than a shop. He ducks behind a huge cluster of blue _somethings_ that smell more like a litter box than a garden, resolving to hold his position. If Obi-Wan can handle this, then Obi-Wan can handle this.

"I don't think so," someone responds, and the accent sounds Devaronian even though the voice itself is soft and lilting. "I think we’ve found just the rat we were looking for… and without his fancy claw, to boot."

"A rat? Oh, dear me, no." Obi-Wan presses enough power into the words that even Cody absently starts thinking about walking away. The words are said with that carefree rhythm that always gets Obi-Wan underestimated. "I'm here on my honeymoon, just waiting for my partner. Have you seen him? Human, about my height? Dark skin, muscular, with gorgeous brown eyes and a smile as soft as the dawn?"

And hell, Cody knows it’s just part of the persona. He even knows that it’s statistically smart to describe a brother, since there are thirty or so walking around to be seen. But even knowing this, the words cause a blotchy flush to rise up past the edge of his low-neck shirt, hot and uneven.

They also give him an idea.

The young Twi’lek shop attendant doesn’t even look up from her datapad until he waves the biggest of the cred chits that Obi-Wan had given him under her nose.

“What’s the biggest thing that this’ll get me?” Cody asks, dead serious, and her eyes go wide when he empties his pockets of every single chit. 

“Do you have a color preference?” she says, already moving towards the elaborate concoctions at the back, and Cody doesn’t even have to think about it.

If Obi-Wan is surprised to see him elbowing his way through the crowd with a bouquet of orange and gold flowers bigger than General Yoda, he doesn’t show it. His smile is warm and welcoming, and Obi-Wan may be a good actor, but Cody thinks there’s a bit of honest joy in it. His assailants freeze, their hands on their blasters and their eyes flicking back and forth between Obi-Wan, Cody, and the waterfall of orange in his hands.

“Darling, for me? I’m touched,” Obi-Wan says, wry humor threaded through every syllable. 

“Of course. Sorry I’m late, dear,” Cody says, trying to match Obi-Wan’s tone. He’s running on instinct, but his instincts are a little barren in this situation: he’s not sure he’s ever used an endearment unironically in his entire life. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Obi-Wan looks like he’s choking down a laugh when he takes the bouquet, but Cody sees the instant that his hands wrap around the lightsaber hidden within the stems. 

“Well, consider me surprised,” Obi-Wan breathes. His brilliant blue eyes crease into half moons of real delight, and Cody is amazed, all over again, at how much joy Obi-Wan can find on the knife’s edge of danger. At how Cody’s heart beats in time to that joy.

The three henchmen in front of him all seem gobsmacked, averting their eyes and shuffling their feet. Only the ringleader, a massive Devaronian in a sharp white vest, seems unconvinced.

“No,” he says, raising a blaster, and his cronies scramble to follow suit. “No, I don’t think so.”

Obi-Wan deflects the first two blasts back before Cody can even get his hand on his Deece. The brilliant blue blade bursting from amidst a wash of gold flowers seems like something that should be on a stained glass window—printed on currency—woven into banners to fly from the Negotiator. Petals and leaves are scattering across the pier and into the water behind them, but their beauty is secondary to the artwork that is Obi-Wan. Their enemies are firing from close range, and Obi-Wan is precise enough with his bladework to return each bolt back to their center of mass without needing to dodge. They go down almost instantly in a pile of groans and blaster burns. 

It’s over so quickly, in fact, that Obi-Wan has already retracted his saber and repositioned the flowers by the time shoppers start turning to stare. His nonchalance would be more convincing if some of the flowers weren't on fire.

“You should just toss those in the harbor, sir,” Cody says, smiling helplessly at Obi-Wan scrubbing out the embers with his free hand.

“I will not,” Obi-Wan protests, winking at him. “They were a gift from my new husband. He had barely a credit to his name, and he spent it all on me.”

Cody shakes his head, huffing out a laugh as he stands point over their would-be assassins. He pulls up his communicator and opens a voice channel in their secure network. 

"Crys, Gregory," he says. "Clean-up on Pier 9."

To Cody’s chagrin and to the immense joy of all of Ghost Company, Obi-Wan carries the flowers in his arms all the way back to the temporary op center, smugly trailing hundreds of golden petals and four sullen men.

-—-

Obi-Wan is called into a review with the Jedi Council immediately after stepping foot on the _Negotiator_. He waves his troopers onwards, still wearing jeans and eyeliner, and he pretends that his only regret is not being able to take his flowers with him as he goes. Cody uses the reprieve to shower and pull his armor back on, feeling something in his soul settle with the snap of every clasp. The armor isn't comfortable, exactly, but it is a comfort. 

When Cody arrives at Obi-Wan’s quarters for their standard operation post-mortem, his general has also changed. He’s washed the gel out of his hair, and there are wet red strands curling rebelliously around his ears. His eyes are sparkling with good humor, anticipatory, as if waiting for Cody to notice something. 

Something like the minor forest of singed Antillan flowers in a vase on his desk.

Cody snorts at the sight, and Obi-Wan grins and gestures for Cody to sit across from him.

“I’m glad to see you looking more comfortable,” Obi-Wan says. He pulls his sleeve back with one hand and reaches over to pick up his tea pot, pouring them both a cup of tea. Cody's eyes meet Obi-Wan’s through the steam curling up in front of him, and, if they're talking comfort, he thinks he’s earned the chance for a bit of minor criticism. He’s getting tired of knowing his general is running around unarmed.

“Our armor is our life, sir. Best to keep it nearby,” Cody says, and he lets a tinge of reproach slip into his tone. 

Obi-Wan just laughs.

“Yes, I deserved that, don’t I. This time I have an excuse, at least: I’d left my lightsaber behind on purpose.”

Cody almost drops his mug. “You _what_.”

“I think they were expecting me,” Obi-Wan says. His expression is still teasing, but Cody can see white knuckles around his cup. Obi-Wan is an impeccable actor, but his hands always give him away: something about this group had worried him. “They weren’t part of the Separatist movement, but that isn’t a surprise, necessarily. The Separatists do not hold dominion over all of the galaxy’s evils. But they were very interested in how a Jedi accesses the Force. I needed to arrest them, but I knew that their leader—Greer Lott—wouldn’t reveal himself if he thought I was armed.”

Obi-Wan pauses, sipping his tea as he slips into thought. “They have a lot of knowledge of the Force, but… very little knowledge of the Jedi, I think. They were under the impression that a Jedi draws their power through their lightsaber, so I let myself be disarmed to draw him out.”

Cody gets a sinking, twisting feeling in his gut. "Did I interfere with your plan, sir?"

At that, Obi-Wan looks at him with such a fond smile that Cody thinks he can almost feel its warmth in the very air around him. "No, Cody. I would have been fine, but I’m glad you were there. Because of you, I dispatched those men much more quickly, with much less property damage, _and_ I didn't have to walk back in wet jeans."

Cody breathes an internal sigh of relief.

"That does bring me to my next point, though," Obi-Wan says, and he reaches down to put his lightsaber on the desk between them.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Cody asks.

Obi-Wan just reaches over to loop one finger into the saber's D-ring. With a flick, he sends the saber spinning in place, and Cody watches as it starts to slow, then wobble, then finally settle with the emitter pointed directly at him. When Cody glances up, desperately wishing that the masters on Kamino had taught more about lightsabers than “avoid the bright bit”, Obi-Wan repeats the motion, and again. 

Each time, the lightsaber spins to lock on Cody like a compass needle trained on magnetic north. Cody flicks his gaze from the saber to its owner. "Sir, what does this mean?"

Obi-Wan looks up at him, a disbelieving smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I think my lightsaber likes you better than me,” Obi-Wan admits, and he laughs when Cody’s eyes widen.

"No, I know what you're thinking: clones aren't Force-sensitive. But I think my lightsaber might be a little Cody-sensitive. Have you never questioned how you know where I am when you're holding it?"

"I always know where you are, regardless," Cody says, and he immediately flushes. It's not quite what he meant to say, but it's true. "I just mean—I know you, sir."

"Yes," Obi-Wan says, gentle and understanding. He always manages to understand the unsaid. "Yes, I believe you do."

The moment rests, quiet and still between them, until Obi-Wan claps his hands with a grin. "Anyways, Cody, it's such a shame that I can't promote you further. How is it that you can be so skilled in both military strategy _and_ advanced lightsaber retrieval?"

"Well, anything for you, sir," Cody says drily, accepting the change in subject. He can feel that slight pressure again: that surge of warmth and pride curling around his heart. "Anything for you."

-—-

It doesn't change the way he works in the field, but that’s mostly because Cody doesn't really believe that his general's mystic laser sword has managed to develop feelings for him. If anything, Cody treats the lightsaber as an absent ally; if the Force is doing a little extra work to help Cody keep Obi-Wan alive, well. Cody needs all the help he can get.

Later, he asks if there are any potential negative side effects, and Obi-Wan just smiles.

"No, Cody," he says, and there is the faintest buried hint of sadness in his voice. "This is not unprecedented. So long as the connection is unused, it will fade soon enough."

A pang of regret beats against Cody's ribs at the idea, and he isn't sure that the feeling is entirely his own.

-—-

The fifth time, Cody isn't conscious for it.

He wakes up in the medical bay of the _Resolute_ , blinking blearily until Rex comes into blurry focus at his side.

"Rex?" 

All three of Rex smile down at him in amusement. "Hey, vod. Don't try to sit up."

Cody tries to sit up. The pain is immediate and brutal, searing down his side in such a flurry of blows that he ends up gasping for air and feeling it whistle through his throat. He sinks back into the bed, exhausted, and blinks owlishly at Rex.

“I did warn you,” his brother says, but his grin is tampered with worry. It’s serious, then, whatever Cody’s condition is. “Kix said you’ll be in here for almost a week before we can move you back to the _Negotiator_. Bacta can fix the burns and contusions, but he thinks it'll be better for time to fix your lungs.”

Every breath he takes feels like it’s being drawn through a straw, and his chest struggles to rise and fall. He buys himself a few seconds of rest by inspecting what little he can see of his surroundings. There’s a privacy curtain around his bed that walls him off from the rest of the med bay, which means that he’s been out for a while. The paperwork build-up is going to be hell.

To Cody’s right, sitting on a stool and leaning forward on his knees, Rex looks tired. He’s in his greys, which means the battle is over, and the only clean-up left is administrative. A folding table has been set up beside Rex, and it holds a plastic cup of ice chips and what are, unmistakably, the broken pieces of High General Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber.

Breathing becomes, impossibly, even more difficult.

"He's fine," Rex says as soon as he notices where Cody is looking. "Cody, your general's fine. He’s in a meeting with General Skywalker. Cody, you’ve got to _breathe_."

The heart rate monitor next to the biobed eventually stops flashing red warning signs, and Cody tears his eyes from the shattered lightsaber. 

"I think you'd best tell me what happened," Cody croaks.

Rex looks at him for a long second, then nods. "Alright, what's the last thing you remember?"

Tsiehshi had been a shitshow. Not as bad as Umbara, but only because Umbara was a high bar in terms of catastrophe. The planet itself was hospitable only by the laxest possible definition, and its singular strategic value was its location in neutral space. The majority of the planet’s population didn’t even live on the planet itself; they lived on its closest moon, and they held sovereign claim only through the plenitude of mining operations that they oversaw on the surface. The ore they were mining was extremely radioactive, prone to explosion, scrambled all communication signals, and five kilograms of it could power a Mon Calamari star cruiser for a decade.

It was not an ideal location for any battle involving weapons more advanced than sharpened sticks.

Unfortunately, the Separatist droids had both less self-preservation and greater logistical needs for energy sources, so they had made a move on the planet. Due to the difficulty of mining the ore, they had set up an arrangement with the Tsiehshins: the Separatists would get a “protection fee” of refined ore, the neutral Tsiehshins would keep the contract hidden from the eyes of the Republic, and the Separatists wouldn’t blow the planet into one of its two suns.

This wouldn’t have been worth calling in both the 212th and the 501st if the Separatists hadn’t then used the depths of the mines as storage for their most sensitive espionage information. The ore emitted so many different energy signatures that radios were useless within half a kilometer of it, so, tactically, it functioned as a perfect shield against innovative slicers. Unable to use the high-tech art of slicing, the Republic had instead elected to use the much more classical art of _smash-and-grab_.

Cody and Rex had planned an elaborate infiltration op, with two separate Jedi-led squads performing distraction maneuvers near the ore refineries from within safely shielded ground ships, a third squad deployed to interrupt transport lines from the motive power depot to both the distraction hot zones and the mine in which the information was being held, and a fourth to stealth into the covert base. This plan had been relying on the one thing their military intelligence knew to be true: that the Separatists were unaware that Republic operatives had discovered the location of the espionage information.

As always, the real truth was that "military intelligence" is an oxymoron.

Ghost Company had just managed to unlock the doors of the shielded intelligence storage room when they discovered the trap. Cody finds out later that Rex had been shouting himself hoarse into their failed comms for nearly a quarter of an hour by the time the first charges blew, but they had been too far deep in the mine for radio signals to reach. It had been stupid of him to press forward, Cody knew: as bull-headed as dogpiling Grievous or blowing Rishi Station. But if they could just get the name of _one_ of the Separatist spies; _one_ cipher code for the droid communiques—

He tells Rex that he remembers calling the retreat for Ghost Company; he remembers his hand pushing open the unlocked door; he remembers a sudden, searing heat that pounded at him through the transparisteel covering of his antirad suit, and then he remembers nothing at all. 

Rex gives him a look that has more judgment than is deserved from a man who would have, and has, done the exact same thing.

“I didn’t expect to wake up,” Cody says, both an answer and a question.

“We didn’t expect to get you back,” Rex replies. His voice is rough with the remnants of grief. “Let alone in one piece. The mine adit was more than halfway collapsed by the time General Kenobi pulled you out, and your antirad suit was punctured in four places. Your body was emitting so much radiation that Kix had to filter it out in the hot zone before we could bring you onto the ship.”

Cody stares. “General Kenobi pulled me out? Wasn’t he with Rampant?”

“Rampant and Torrent had reconvened by that point, since we’d realized that the Seppies were prepared for us. We didn’t know if they already knew about you, or if mobilizing all units towards your location would put you more at risk. Generals Skywalker and Kenobi were still arguing the merits of a frontal assault, when—well. When General Kenobi felt the mine collapse on you.”

“He felt the collapse?”

“No; he felt the pain.”

The first emotion to filter through the shock is horror. Causing Obi-Wan pain in the middle of a battle—in the middle of any op—definitively fell under the scope of “potential negative side effects”. Cody can’t fight while worried about distracting his general every time he takes a hit, and he can’t have Obi-Wan risking his life whenever Cody goes down. He glances at the shattered pieces of the lightsaber on the table, wondering if the connection between them broke with it… and knowing, somehow, that it hadn’t. There’s a faint hint of warmth in a back corner of his mind, a fleeting awareness of someone thinking of him, and Cody at last recognizes Obi-Wan in it.

“Has that ever happened with General Skywalker?” Cody asks, dreading the answer.

“Not with me, no."

Rex hesitates, then, and he looks as though he's pulling the words through his teeth when he admits, "But it’s happened with him and his senator.”

They both fall quiet, turning that over in their minds and shying away from the implications. 

“Hey, you’d tell me if you were secretly married to your general, right?” Rex asks, at last, and Cody feels a blush burn up his neck and across the tops of his ears.

“ _Rex_.”

“Just checking!”

Cody sighs and gives up the point, mostly because he’s in no condition to pull Rex into a headlock and scrub his knuckles into Rex’s buzzcut. 

“No," he says. "I didn’t realize the connection worked both ways. He’d said it would fade away if left unused, but. I guess he used it.”

“Then it sure sounds like you two have something to talk about.”

Cody makes a protesting noise, and Rex just laughs softly under his breath as he looks away. When he looks back, the concern in his eyes isn’t entirely for Cody. He leans forward and lowers his voice, and Cody feels his heartbeat slow in anticipation.

“Speaking of mysteries: did you look into that thing I mentioned? With Fives?”

Ah.

“No, I’m sorry, Rex,” Cody says, genuinely contrite. “I haven’t been able to yet.”

“Will you? Hell, you were with me when we found him and Domino Squad. You know how loyal—you know he’s a good man.” Rex takes a deep breath, centering himself, and Cody is reminded all over again how difficult it is to be the one who survives. “Was a good man.”

“Rex, I trust you, and I trusted Fives. I will. I just need a bit of time out of the frying pan _and_ out of the fire.”

Cody gestures as best as he can at his body, slowly healing from radiation burns, contusions, and multiple lacerations, and Rex nods.

“I understand. Alright, well, I’ll get Jesse to distract Kix long enough for General Kenobi to visit,” Rex says. Then he grins, exhausted but full of the smugness unique to younger brothers. “And hey, maybe if you make an honest man out of your general, he'll stop flirting with all the Sith.”

Cody groans. “Get _out_ , Rex.”

Rex squeezes his hand and stands. “Be well, Cody.”

When Cody opens his eyes later, the med bay is dark, and Obi-Wan is at his bedside. The shattered lightsaber housing is in the lap of his robes, and he’s fiddling with the connection between the heat sink and the fins shaft. He looks tired, too; there are bacta patches down one side of his face, and his fingers are so wrapped in bandages that they’re a little clumsy with a screwdriver. The naked glow of the kyber crystal peeks through the stripped lightsaber body, filling the space between Obi-Wan and Cody with a peaceful glow.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Cody rasps, tilting his head to face his general.

Obi-Wan glances up, looking unsurprised to find Cody awake. It’s always been hard to surprise the man. 

“Don’t be. I find it much easier to piece a lightsaber back together than a commander,” he says, and his voice turns wry. “Besides, at this point, I think it owes you one.”

“Seems to me like I owe _you_ one, sir.”

“Cody. You don’t owe me anything.” 

As Cody watches, Obi-Wan raises a single eyebrow. The hint of reproof in his voice deepens. “That said, if you'd like to do me a favor, perhaps run away from—instead of into—the exploding radioactive hellscape next time.”

Despite the mild tone and calm face, Cody can see Obi-Wan’s hands shake slightly, white-knuckled around the screwdriver. Obi-Wan’s hands always give him away. It hurts, as it always has, to see him hurting. And it's Cody's fault.

This isn’t how Cody wanted to start this conversation, and he didn’t want to have it here, but his emotions are too raw and too close to the surface for him to bite back his next words.

“You should’ve left me, sir,” he says. “Instead of paying for my mistakes.”

For a few long seconds, the only sound is that of Obi-Wan tapping of the screwdriver against the heat sink. The rest of the med bay is silent behind the privacy screen: even the machinery seems muted.

“You’re not expendable, Cody,” Obi-Wan says at last, and the distant ball of warmth in the back of Cody’s mind pulses with some unnamed emotion. “Not to the war effort, and not to me.”

And while that’s sweet, it’s something that Cody already knew. It’s a classic Obi-Wan polite redirection at best, and at worst, it’s simply missing the point. Cody wishes he weren’t flat on his back so that he could glare more effectively.

“Even if I’m not expendable, General, you are _necessary_ ,” he snaps. “I expect foolhardy heroics from Skywalker, but you know very well that you should’ve left me in that mine. It was pure luck that I was still alive, let alone that you found me in time—”

“It wasn’t,” Obi-Wan interrupts, voice quiet. “It wasn’t luck at all.”

As if the seal had broken on the emotions he had been bottling, he gestures angrily to the broken lightsaber in his lap and keeps going. “I could still feel you in the Force, despite all that pain. And I’ve had to choose, so many times, between my duty and someone that I… Cody, I couldn’t make that choice again. I couldn’t lose _another_ —”

The sudden surge of fear and anger and determination in Obi-Wan vanishes behind a calm façade as quickly as a ray shield going up. Even that shimmering awareness of Obi-Wan in the back of Cody’s mind quiets, and Cody is surprised to be able to feel its loss. 

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. "No, I’m sorry. I know that—I know that we each have our duty. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Something makes Cody bold. Perhaps it’s the careful distance in Obi-Wan’s voice; perhaps it's the painkillers; or perhaps it's the lightsaber, shattered and sacrificed, in Obi-Wan’s hands. 

“It’s not just your lightsaber, then,” Cody says, and he’s trying to be kind.

Obi-Wan looks away, and he puts down the screwdriver in order to stroke his beard and cover the guilty downturn of his mouth.

“No,” he says, still looking to the side. “I was not entirely honest, earlier. My lightsaber is an extension of me, and it reflects—and enhances—my feelings within the Force. The attachment is mine.”

Hearing the confirmation is not as much of a surprise as Cody thought it might be. It’s a comfort, if anything, to know for certain that there is an answering song in his general’s heart. The words fit into his universe like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place, and something in him settles. The knowledge doesn’t change anything, really, but for a single second, Cody lets himself think about a time after the war.

“I'm sorry, Cody,” Obi-Wan continues, and Cody can feel the river of genuine sorrow that runs through Obi-Wan, vast and deep. Cody’s general is always so, so sorry. “I tried to break the bond. You can’t exactly consent to anything as my subordinate, and even a fledgling Force bond is nearly impossible to understand as a Force-null. I would understand completely if you’d prefer that I transfer you to another battalion.”

The heart rate monitor starts edging towards red again almost immediately; the idea is almost too much to bear. Cody fights through the fog of sedatives to flop his hand, ungracefully, atop the broken lightsaber pieces in Obi-Wan’s cupped hand.

“Stop worrying,” he says, gritting his teeth through the pain of movement. Nothing is more important than communicating this. “I just want to be with you, sir. At your back, and at your side. Always."

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. In the tomb-like quiet of the med bay, he is a man breaking. He is a man who has always been asked to give more than he has and who has always given it anyways.

“Cody, please,” Obi-Wan begs, a supplication and a benediction both, though Cody does not know what he is asking for. In the absence of an answer, Cody reaches out for that shimmering awareness on the edge of his mind and grabs onto the thread connecting the two of them. He tugs on that bright, golden link, and he feels more than hears Obi-Wan’s choked inhale.

“Always,” he repeats, resolute, and Obi-Wan doesn’t protest again.

Cody falls back asleep to the sound of Obi-Wan piecing the lightsaber, and himself, back together.

-—-

It happens again, and again. And then it happens on Utapau.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lands directly on Cody’s foot in the middle of the 212th’s push into Pau City, and Cody is only marginally surprised. He glances around when he hears the varactyl cry out, but he can’t find his general in any direction. The rest of the 212th surges forward, sensing victory in their grasp, and Cody watches waves of orange and white rush past him as he hangs back. Whatever connects him and Obi-Wan hasn’t become any clearer since that night after Tsiehshi, but he’s learned to trust his instincts when he has the saber in his hand.

“Will you tell me now?” he asks it, as quietly as he can. The sounds of blaster fire and the heavy tread of AT-TEs echo all around him. For a split second, Cody feels as though he is falling, as though wind is whistling through his hair and the bottom of his stomach has dropped out, and he knows. Glancing over the side of the landing platform, he fights not to groan at how far down the core shaft extends.

“Magnus!” he yells into their officer channel as he grabs a speeder from one of their transports. “You’ve got field command.”

“Understood. Bring him home, sir,” he hears Magnus warble through the comms, and he sets off to do just that.

Cody holds the lightsaber in his left hand as he steers with his right, feeling as though he’s wielding a diviner’s rod and trying to dowse ley lines. Eventually, he starts to see the signs of carnage left by General Grievous’ speeder wheel, and he pushes the bike to its limits at the thought of Obi-Wan facing Grievous alone and unarmed.

He skids the bike to a halt when he hears the all-too-familiar rasp of Grievous’ voice, and he ventures on foot through the planet’s arching, leafy blue flora until he sees both generals. They're squaring off on a landing pad carved into the side of some rust-orange cliffs, with a hundred meter drop on all sides.

Obi-Wan is, at least, less unarmed than Cody had thought; he’s spinning one of the purple-ended electrostaves and dodging Grievous' blaster fire. There’s no explicit signal—no pulse or touch from that bright spot in Cody’s mind—but Obi-Wan starts side-stepping along the edge of the landing platform, rotating the angle of the fight until Grievous’ back is perpendicular to the barrel of Cody’s DC-17.

Even knowing for absolute certain that it won’t be this easy, Cody takes the shot. He manages to land two hits on Grievous’ upper back and one on his hip before Grievous turns, snarling, and his armor is scorched black but intact. With his cover blown, Cody ducks and weaves his way closer to the landing platform, trading shots with Grievous until Obi-Wan lunges forward with the electrostaff. Grievous goes down to one knee, but the length of his reach is still incredible. His arms rotate 180 degrees in their sockets, and he punches backwards at Obi-Wan faster than Cody’s eyes can follow. 

Cody abandons ducking and weaving for a full on sprint, and he jumps for the landing platform just in time to see Obi-Wan go sailing backwards, past the edge of the platform and into the mud of the cliffs. His body is ragdoll-limp as it skids below the platform's rim and beyond Cody’s line of sight.

"General!" he shouts, terrified even as he reaches for that warm corner of his mind that he thinks of as Obi-Wan’s, but Grievous is right there, holding the electrostaff that Obi-Wan had dropped. He knocks the blaster out of Cody’s hands with a wide sweep, and he uses two of his other arms to pin Cody’s shoulders to the cold metal below. 

“Hello there,” Grievous cackles, his awful yellow eyes a breath away from Cody’s. He is a caricature of villainy. “Do you honestly think that you might succeed where a Jedi could not, little clone? Where _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ could not?”

Grievous doesn’t even wait for an answer; he just twists his robotic torso up as he aims the electrostaff downwards like a spear, the purple haze of it crackling with power as he stabs it downwards.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber hums to life before Cody even realizes that he’s drawn it. Its blue beam blocks the electrostaff just in time, and Grievous howls in confusion even as Cody feels his right shoulder twist under the force of the blow.

“That’s mine by right,” Grievous hisses, putting his full weight into his staff and forcing the lightsaber blade dangerously close to Cody’s chest. He can see the white plastoid of his armor start to bubble from the heat. “I shall take it from your corpse!”

The force bearing down against the lightsaber is more than Cody could hold alone, and that very fact gives him an idea. His obliques scream as he twists himself to the side, sending the point of Grievous’ electrostaff into his right shoulder but giving him the second he needs to roll out from beneath the cyborg. He slowly, painfully transfers the lightsaber from his deadened right hand to his left, and in his mind, he grabs hold of the golden thread connecting the saber and his heart.

With every last atom of his strength, Cody chucks the lightsaber over the side of the platform.

They both watch it sail through the air, and Grievous laughs his awful cartoon villain laugh as he pulls himself upright with a series of mechanical clicks.

“Do you think to distract me, little clone? That I would go diving for it like a tooka after a stick?” he asks, twirling the electrostaff from barely two meters away. Cody is not a praying man, but he’s praying to anyone who will listen as he tries to scramble backwards towards his blaster in the face of Grievous' slow, inexorable advance. 

He’s not going to make it in time. Alpha-17’s voice echoes in his head again, the voice of his training and his instincts: _stand up, CC-2224_. _If you’re going to die, die with a weapon in hand_. His vibroknife is out of his boot and in his grip before he finishes the thought, and he starts to struggle, lopsided, to his feet. Out of either some twisted chivalry or sheer mockery, Grievous waits for him to stand.

“Say hello to Kenobi for me,” Grievous hisses, and then a brilliant blue light blossoms in the center of his chest.

They both stare at it, dumbfounded, until the lightsaber drags itself up through Grievous’ armor and plating and lengthways through the center of his skull. The body collapses once the blue blade clicks off, and it falls into a burning, smoking mess on the platform. In the space behind it, Obi-Wan is grinning, fierce and proud, with blood dripping over his eyebrow and splattered across his cheekbone. 

“Good toss, Cody,” he says, as if he had never doubted Cody for a second, as if he had always known they would survive.

Cody immediately falls over.

He wakes up however many minutes later, and the soft weave of Obi-Wan’s robes has left an imprint on his cheek. His shoulder is a barrage of pain, from his collarbone down to his elbow, and he’s not sure if his fingers wiggle when he tries. Through the haze of pain, he starts to feel something else: the warm, honey-gold balm of the Force trickling through his shoulder and down his side.

Obi-Wan maintains his focus on healing, but he spares Cody a smile when he glances over. 

"Welcome back, Commander," Obi-Wan says with all apparent good cheer. "We're missing out on the 212th's fun: I'd left quite a few droids for you all to take care of."

Cody jerks his chin as best he can towards the smoldering wreckage of what had once been General Grievous. 

"I think we took out the worst of the clankers ourselves, sir."

"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan says, and he winks. "How uncivilized, hm?"

Cody leans back with a sigh. Grievous is dead; his shoulder will heal; and soon, there will be an end to this war. So close to Obi-Wan, and with Force healing flowing through his veins, the warm wash of peace and contentment emanating from his connection to Obi-Wan is easy to sink into. 

In fact, it is only because he is so connected to the Force in that moment that he notices when it changes: when a thread of black intent unfurls from the stream, burrows into his mind, and starts to take root. 

In an instant, everything becomes very simple, very clear. There is a humming vibration in Cody’s mind like a demolition primer.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan asks. “You—are you shielding yourself from me? Cody?”

The comm panel on Cody’s left arm emits one long beep and four short, then repeats the pattern. High command.

“I need to get that, sir,” Cody says, and it feels as though he is watching someone else move his body. When Cody presses the receiver for his comm with his right hand, he barely registers leaving blood across the switches.

“Commander Cody,” his Lord Emperor Palpatine says from the holocast. “Execute Order 66.”

“Yes, Lord Sidious,” Cody confirms, and his whole world shatters into dust.

He slams his left fist into Kenobi’s jaw before the traitor can react, but he knows that he’s just lost the element of surprise. The pain of rolling to the side sparks stars in his vision, and he can’t help but wish that the order had come in _after_ he’d been healed. His legs support him, barely, but he just needs a second’s sprint to get to where his blaster is still lying on the platform. His right arm is completely useless, but he’s still 96% accurate with his left hand.

Unfortunately, 96% accuracy doesn’t do much good against the most proficient master of the Soresu lightsaber form in Jedi history.

“Cody, snap out of it!” the traitor shouts, deflecting blasts into the cliffs behind him. “I can’t—damn it, I can’t even feel you anymore. Stop, please! I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Kenobi. You have been charged with treason against the Empire, the punishment for which is death. You have no rights remaining,” Cody says. He has 250 rounds left on his DC-17, which should be just enough to keep the traitor distracted until the 212th can find them. “It would be best for you to die quietly.” 

Kenobi maintains his defensive strategy: a flaw easily taken advantage of. Cody keeps him pinned with blaster fire as he starts to advance across the platform, hoping to get close enough to catch the traitor off-guard. Between one step and next, though, he feels his blaster jerk upwards, pulled by nothing, and then he watches it fly over the edge of the platform. He turns back towards Kenobi. It’s no matter; he’ll just—

Cody catches the item thrown at him on instinct alone. At first, the item doesn’t resolve itself in his mind, and he scowls after a long second to find himself holding a traitor’s weapon. Why would his enemy disarm himself? His hand moves to tuck it into his belt out of some unknown habit, and he pauses to find the perfect clip already there.

When he looks up at Kenobi, the desperate expression that the traitor had been wearing has transformed into something so, so full of hope. The world slots back into place for a single, perfect moment, and then it shatters once more.

Taking advantage of the traitor’s distraction, Cody bends his knees and sprints towards him for a tackle. He slams into Kenobi’s waist, but the traitor pivots at the last second, tripping Cody’s back leg and using Cody’s momentum to carry them both to the ground. Kenobi's proficient in eight forms of tae-jitsu, Cody remembers too late, and then he can't do more than snarl from where he’s pinned to his stomach on the cold metal platform. 

“Cody, where did you go?” Kenobi asks. His head is so close that Cody can hear the breath catch in his throat. “Damn it, no. Not you too. I said it before, and I meant it: I will _not_ lose another to the Dark Side." 

The full bore of the Force presses down against Cody, and he can’t move a millimeter as the traitor moves his hands to Cody’s temples.

“I am one with the Force; the Force is with me,” the traitor starts to chant, and Cody would scream if he could just open his mouth. “I am one with the Force; _the Force is with me_.”

The words work their way deep into Cody’s mind, and he fights it. It feels like staring into the sun after days of being trapped in a cave-in; it hurts. It hurts so much, but Cody can feel the light eventually creep its way underneath the enormous weight of the Dark Side: a single pillar holding up a kilometer of bedrock. 

With the weight lifted off his lungs, he can finally breathe. He can speak. His own thoughts, slowly, start to trickle back in through the gap.

"Obi-Wan," he gasps, beyond all titles and all dignity. Little gods, he just tried to kill his general. " _Obi-Wan_."

He feels more than hears the ragged breath of relief that Obi-Wan draws; it shivers down his whole body. “You’re back. Oh, you’re back. Cody, what happened? Was that the chancellor?”

The enormity of the Dark Side still hovers in Cody's mind, unrelenting and inescapable. He knows he has to hurry.

“Obi-Wan, there’s no time. You have to kill me. Us. Oh, hell, it’s—it’s in all of us.”

"I am _not_ killing you.” Obi-Wan ducks his head forward and presses his temple to Cody’s, breathing in again. It helps. “Cody, you have to tell me what’s going on."

Cody feels the Dark Side start to descend once more, centimeter by centimeter, and he knows that the strain of what Obi-Wan is doing is taking its toll. From his waist, the lightsaber emits a pulse of warmth, and Cody mentally reaches for it. In his mind's eye, a golden thread unspools from the emitter, and he holds onto it, bright in the oncoming darkness, and he wraps it around his heart like a harness. He hopes Obi-Wan can use it to find his way back. 

"It’s a chip," he chokes out. "Rex was right. Find Rex, please, Obi-Wan—"

At that, the golden pillar bends, splinters, and snaps. The savage weight of the Dark Side drops over him again, and Cody throws his whole body against Kenobi’s hold, hissing as the motion torques his shoulder. 

“Good soldiers follow orders,” he spits, baring his teeth.

There are hands around his neck, then: tender, unyielding, and personal. There are tears splashing against his cheek, where the Force is pressing his head to the ground. As his world fades to black, Cody can’t help but wonder why a traitor would be crying over victory.

-—-

He wakes up, bound, in the back of what must be the puddle jumper that had been parked on the landing pad. The pain in his shoulder has quieted to a dull, throbbing ache. Someone has stripped him of his armor, but to his surprise, he finds himself wearing his tactical belt. The traitor’s weapon is still clipped to his side, emanating a faint warmth.

“I apologize for your discomfort, Commander,” the traitor says from the pilot's seat. His voice is cheery, his eyes are twinkling, and his knuckles are white around the flight controls. “Unfortunately, we have a long ride ahead of us to Seelos, so you'll just have to hold on.”

And deep, deep under the crippling weight of the Dark Side and his control chip, Cody reaches for the golden thread connecting him to the lightsaber and to his general. He pulls it tighter around his mind, and he holds on.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I'm glad to have finally finished this up after the chaos of election week. Anyways, any and all feedback is loved; I’d love to hear what you thought.
> 
> P.S. Did you know that, in Lego: Star Wars, Cody comes with Obi-Wan to the Grievous fight? So theoretically this fic is canon compliant! (...The part after this where they find Rex, Obi-Wan removes Cody's chip, and Cody and Obi-Wan end up on Tatooine as Luke’s weird uncles is, perhaps, less so.)
> 
> EDIT 11/30: OH WOW, this fic now has two (2) pieces of art to go with it!
> 
> Thank you so much to @sara_rokhov on Twitter for art of Cody and Obi-Wan and the [lightsaber bouquet!](https://twitter.com/sara_rokhov/status/1333155409201422337)
> 
> And thank you to @ErikaGSkerzz on Twitter for the art of Cody holding [Obi-Wan's lightsaber!](https://twitter.com/ErikaGSkerzz/status/1330660583402778626?s=20)


End file.
